Kintsukuroi
by RestlessRuin
Summary: AU: The Mothership stands vigil after Christopher and Wikus retrieve the vial. With not enough fluid to ensure a successful trip, Christopher must bide his time with infrequent trips to D9 after the move to D10. Wikus endures, seeking out the remnants of his humanity when an opportunity for progress rekindles his hope for a 'normal life'.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own D9, or its characters

**Kintsukuroi: **pronunciation: kin-tsU-kU-roi ; definition: 'the Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with lacquer resin dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver or platinum. As a philosophy it speaks to breakage and repair becoming part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.' (wikipedia; wordstuck)

* * *

_3 and a half years later_

The moon hangs in the sky above them, full, bright.

The noise in District 10 is loud on these nights. Restlessness hangs in the air; the guards are visibly tense as they walk along their posts. Eyes pay close attention to the silhouettes that near too close to the walls and barricades. A misfire, regardless, would send the victim's painful whirl into a clear echo across camp. The sound could easily cascade and gather large groups. It would trigger a spark, and a reckless outcry might result in a rush to the barricades.

Thus their aim required precision.

It was unwise then for the young or old to wander between the tents, or too far.

Inside his tent between two other bodies and the child that rested soundly beside him, Wikus – registered under Desmond Stewart - struggled against the heady scent surrounding them.

He shifted anxiously, his antennae writhing as he forced his eyes shut.

The body behind him grunted, but didn't wake. The arm that slugged across him tightened.

Desmond steadied his breath. After a few successful ins and outs, they quickly deteriorated as the previous body cooed quietly to him. The grip released and rested a hand against his back.

With another breath of coos Desmond's body visibly started to relax again. The hand rubbed against his back between the segments up and down. With each of his breaths Desmond could feel their lengthening depth. The coos stilled his antennae, his little arms tucked away, and he melted into the nest underneath them.

He woke up before the light could break through their tent. The arm, Christopher's, had resumed its place around him during the night.

Desmond shifted between prawn and the child snuggled up to him. With a successful chirp, he crawled out of the nest and exited the tent.

Only a few of the aliens were out at this hour. There wasn't much at all to scavenge, especially after the relocation. Food supply was now completely monitored and controlled by MNU.

He walked out to a clearing where a few poles stuck out from the ground; a line of outdoor shower heads. Desmond recalled the reaction to these contraptions with a smile. The aliens weren't stupid; but as they quickly discovered how to turn on the outdoor showers they found them rather useless, perhaps even childish. It was a waste of water even though fountain areas provided clean drinking sources. They might run out of food, but at least they had been guaranteed full access to these sites.

The thought was a hopeful one in the first year. After several acts of resistance against their gate keepers, MNU exercised their complete control by cutting off their water supplies. The aliens quickly relented after a week. Eventually the water came back, and the food re-appeared.

Desmond neared one of these poles and pressed the button with a firm push.

The rush of water made him hiss sharply; it was cold. His body tingled because of it, but it was worth these small, null grievances. Despite the nature of his hard, blue-greenish carapace it was hard to feel beyond it. The force behind the water head felt like a sloppy message; but a message nonetheless and absolutely wonderful.

After ten minutes Desmond wandered farther out against the rough field. He squatted down to the ground, curled himself with his arms crossed and waited for the sun to come up.

The muggy air surrounded him. The accumulation of scents hung with it; but the District had finally quieted. The few vocalizations spouting out from within soothed rather than aggravated.

_Peace._ This is what he would have called it.

When he returned to the tent Christopher was sitting on the floor near a small table set to the corner. The child, his child, sat in Christopher's lap with a piece of meat in his mouth. Oliver ate with them.

Oliver had molted just over a year ago. The process of it appeared startling at first. Memories of his change could not be separated from the active metamorphosis. It wasn't as gruesome and disfiguring as his had been, but it forced his memories out with unsettling consequences. He had spewed bile just outside the tent even if there had been no awful stench to deal with (because the process was a clean one). But he swore he could still smell rot and the taste of stale iron in his mouth.

It wasn't painful for Oliver though, and with a bizarre fascination Desmond watched the dramatic metamorphosis occur (as much as he could tolerate). Both Christopher and he sacrificed most of their meals to sustain Oliver's rapid growth. While it would have happened anyways, less health risks (he'd been told) were associated with adequate nutrition during the change. It made sense, and so far Oliver's exoskeleton had sustained very few, if any, breaks.

Desmond trilled in light greeting, taking the only other spot left at the table.

"You leave. What time?"

After the transformation the language had been one of the hardest adjustments. Pieces his brain could hardly fathom to move for the right sounds to occur. He'd learned to give himself some patience, but even then, he was susceptible to bouts of frustration.

"Just before noon."

Christopher didn't look up. He watched the child.

"Time," Oliver repeated quietly.

"Time," he said slowly. Not quite getting the click at the end of the roll.

"Time…" Oliver nodded.

He grabbed for his piece, tearing it apart and chewing.

His son had a name. He settled with Theo, short for Theodore Stewart.

They sat in a mutual silence, Theo's happy chirps and whirls filling the emptiness. This seemed appropriate and nice for the morning, with every now and then interrupted by Christopher or Oliver talking; mostly to Theo.

The toddler appeared happy for the most part. Desmond wasn't sure what he made of it though. When an alarm sound rang – time for the morning pickups – Christopher finally made eye contact and automatically handed Theo over.

Desmond shook his head. Ripping the piece and swallowing the rest in a hurry.

"I will go. Today," he nodded. Avoiding the child with a gentle push back to Christopher.

"Are you sure?"

The crowds could get rough. Depending on who was there; the gangs weren't so bad, and there hadn't been any food shortages lately. For the most part, the colony was usually subdued after a full moon. He should be fine.

Christopher held his eyes though. It wasn't sentimental, rather, concern for his safety.

Desmond huffed and flicked his antennae in mild annoyance.

"Yes."

Christopher sat back, his eyes on Oliver.

"I'll go," he chirped. Finishing the rest of his meat and standing up.

Desmond shook his head, snorting through the bellows of his gills. He picked up a large, worn out fabric bag.

"We'll be back soon." Oliver nuzzled his father's face quickly.

The toddler warbled, watching them leave with an uncertain look directed at his father. One that Desmond failed to notice as he exited the tent with Oliver.

* * *

It would have been easier for Christopher and Oliver had he not begged them to help him. All he could recall during that state was the _sound_ of his voice; not really intelligible, but the sound of it that had seared into his memory. Voice ragged and gravelly, parched and choking on the muggy air; the desperation came out in his vocalizations. Grunts, and wheezing; like a hunted animal pulling against the weight of its own dying body. Bleeding slowly and desperate to cling on to life.

Somehow his plea pulled through.

Oliver's fascination, now that he could look back on it, amused him.

'_We will be the same soon.' _

Little Oliver would compare their arms and legs throughout the process, when he'd been too fatigued to respond. He caught glances of Christopher, perhaps amused by his son but too polite to voice them in front of him.

And from then on he had only known Christopher as 'Guardian'.

"Desmond."

Desmond shook his head, and finally looked at Oliver. The boy laughed the way prawns did, a noise that was light on the tongue. Oliver's was strangely bright, the way it rolled off his throat.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded, and focused on where they were going.

"You weren't responding… I was going to start shaking you."

He snorted, glancing back with a wiry grin – for a prawn –. Desmond had discovered various expressions; it took him a while to process their subtle differences though.

"Tired today."

"You did not sleep well last night?"

"No. Bad night."

He approached the end of the line which had formed quickly and continued to grow.

"Let's play a game Desmond."

He raised a brow.

"It will be a long wait. It won't be that bad of a game."

Oliver smiled.

_Fokk_, the kid was too cute, even if he had changed to look like one of the adults.

"Fine."

"Okay… I'm nobody."

Desmond rolled his eyes; his vocabulary lacking, he took a moment to find the simplest response.

"Wise f-fool."

"-wise," Oliver repeated for him

"Wise…"

"Alone together."

Again, a long pause before, "Bitter sweet."

* * *

Despite their flaws and minor upgrades, the tents were close enough that they provided a sense of protection from MNU. Suicidal, if an agent thought he could walk in the thick of it. Tensions had their lulls, but any human willing to pass through the heart of the new District would certainly die from the hostility.

It provided an opportunity for 'the people' to be close to one another (while often beneficial, there were certain consequences). During the noon hours Desmond and Oliver would go to a different tent. Theo alongside, where one of the older adults taught some of the youngsters. Oliver would help, and sometimes teach classes himself. They were beneficial for Desmond, despite the youngsters and the amused smiles of the other adults when he left.

He thought he didn't care; why would he? He was different and he was not one of them. But he was neither human, he thought. Simply 'hybrid' would do; a one word summary.

He was playing quietly with Theo back at their tent, half engaged with the toddler and responding only now and then. The day went quickly, and now the sun hovered just above the ground. Oliver was reading over some notes his father had made; symbols Desmond didn't recognize.

Finally Christopher returned from his meeting with a trill. He smiled at Theo and Desmond.

"It's good to see you playing with him."

Christopher took a seat near him with a grunt. He reached out to stroke the toddler's face, and received a delighted screech. Desmond didn't respond. He let Theo walk clumsily towards Christopher and hug his leg. The adult instead scooped him up with a warm, rumbling laugh.

"How did the meeting go?"

Oliver abandoned the notebook and sat with them.

"It was okay."

Oliver waited for more, but Christopher was busying himself with the child instead.

"Father?"

"Hm?"

"What made it okay?"

Desmond watched the young thing. All grins and elated vocalizations; it looked nothing like a human baby. Its eyes, one blue and the other green, brought out Desmond's struggle to feel any paternal connection to the creature. It wasn't really his, was it? He couldn't deny that Theo was his own flesh and blood, nor could he deny that it was simple for its age and ugly.

"Little progress, but-," he grinned, admiring the little child. "-ah, the gangs are slowly working with us."

The toddler settled down, snuggled in Christopher's arms and looked at Desmond.

"Are you okay?" Christopher's eyes had settled on him.

"Yes, fine." He shrugged, pulling his eyes away from his kid and crossing his arms.

"What about the fluid?" Oliver went on.

Christopher shook his head. "No plans for this week. Too risky."

Oliver went quiet with a small nod. He got up and grabbed the notebook and sat beside his father.

"There's some of these that don't make sense to me. Can we go over them?"

Christopher trills with a nod. "Here Desmond."

Theo was handed off to him. He returned the child back down at his previous spot in the nest. The child crawled up to his legs, looked up and chirped.

Desmond frowned, pausing for a moment. "Hm?"

Theo giggled, stood on his legs and lunged at him. Desmond startled, squeaking as he pulled back.

"Hell… was that?"

His frown deepened as the buggy giggled its head off against his abdomen. The energetic boy tried climbing up his chest. Desmond pulled him off and sat him down on the ground. He gave the kid a few awkward pats on the head and shook his head.

Someone snorted at him, his gaze fell on Christopher.

"What?"

"He wants his father to hold him."

Desmond narrowed his eyes.

"I know…"

Christopher's gaze wouldn't leave.

"They only love bite."

Oliver stopped to watch.

Theo warbled in discontent, short rolls and tight vocalizations as he fought to snuggle up to his father.

"There," Desmond responded. Slowly taking the toddler and holding him in his arms. His tiny little antennae fluttered across his mouth pieces. It made Christopher smile, a very small smile; it might have made Desmond feel better. But not nearly enough.

For all his anticipation of having a child one day, this was not how he had ever imagined it. Hard to perceive with this spawn; this demon child, hard to imagine _that_ came out of him.

The other children were spindly things, but they appeared natural.

Theo was slightly bigger than the other children of his age. He was also… slower. Not, 'up to par'. He should be speaking more often but he only vocalized sounds. Only sound; and the stupid thing was always happy.

"Here, take him." His voice came out sounding more frantic than he'd thought.

Without thinking he pried Theo from his chest and handed him over to Christopher; resisting the subtle shake in his hands.

Theo made a huff, a whine bubbled out into the open.

Christopher took him, cooing quietly. But it kept staring at him.

Desmond quickly shifted to the nest, and turned his back to the small group.

"_Wikus_." Oliver's voice quietly prodded the air. His hand gently on his shoulder; Desmond hissed.

"That is not my… -name." He tensed.

"Please, leave me be."

He could just close his eyes. For a few hours the world would cease to exist.

He sensed Oliver's hesitation before he left.

Desmond couldn't see Christopher, and although it was silent; he understood the fellow parent was most likely angry with him. His anger reminded him of coals; hidden and quiet, steady.

Theo started crying. Without tears; it was only by sound the way that prawns cried. The children sounded like they were chirping, little hiccup chirps and razor-like screeches. The odd, bubbling trill – clipped and uncoordinated.

The coos from Christopher changed nothing. For a moment Desmond would have snapped, but with a thankful pause the child thrummed quietly into the chest he was cradled against. The coos were sung into the air, it relaxed Desmond too. Quickly, he found rest as he fell asleep.

* * *

_... to be continued._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: **Some made up words pop up in the 'Poleepkwa' language (just one, it's meaning is explained at the end of the chapter). Along with some common ones to add emphasis, but won't be carried throughout the whole story. Wanted to build a little before moving on… enjoy!

* * *

"Desmond."

He opened his eyes. It was almost noon, and he had slept all throughout the night. He woke up to Christopher's voice hovering behind, and the bug-eyed kid-thing looking straight at him.

Desmond pulled his arms close and rolled to the other side.

"Come. We will get water for Jackson and our tent."

By noon it was sweltering in the heat. The sun blazed just beyond the shade of their tent.

Desmond got up. Hunger clawed at his gut, but he ignored it and followed Christopher. Each of them carried the same 3L MNU issued water buckets as they meandered between the tents.

"We have been losing our people." He finally started.

"They have been disappearing."

Desmond shrugged, perhaps too carelessly; it was a good thing Christopher was in front.

"Disappearing? How… can, you… tell?" It wasn't new to him. 'Their' people were capable of killing one another; like mindless, hungry rats. And if they didn't kill each other, the guards would be the most probable second and only other cause. The Nigerian gangs had no other means to get to them. District 10 had become so militarized, that it was nearly impossible for a regular human citizen to waltz on through without clearance.

"Their bodies cannot be found."

"Gangs?"

"No. The gangs have been cooperative."

Desmond could sense the trepidation in that last sentence. It brought a strange, sick feeling that spread all over him.

"You trust… the gang?"

"They would not lie about these things."

They started walking where the tents became sparse and a fountain appeared ahead.

"In the night they have been taking people… too many people."

Desmond started filling his bucket. He frowned and shook his head.

"So?" _What could he do?_

He avoided Christopher's gaze as he shifted away, allowing the prawn to fill his bucket with water.

Nothing was said between them as they started on their way back. Desmond didn't want to think about the probable cause, the reasons that had once landed him in the depths of that MNU laboratory unit. The damned thoughts refused to leave though, as Christopher's scent hit the air with a tangible and uneasy wave of frustration.

They briefly stopped at Jackson's tent. Christopher went ahead inside to drop off the water, before they promptly left.

As they started Christopher's hand stopped him. He turned, finding it hard to meet his eyes without feeling uncomfortable. The hand let go in response.

"We will make a trip to District 9. Tonight."

Desmond frowned.

"With who? How?"

"There will be three of us."

"Oliver?"

Christopher paused and watched him carefully for a moment. He shook his head.

"No. He is staying back with Theo."

Desmond huffed quietly and put the bucket down. He closed his eyes for a moment, frowning. An underlying whirl escaped him.

"Chris… Why? Why am… I going- too?" His eyes opened. A slight glare pointed at the prawn.

"Well?"

"There's not enough time to collect the fluid."

Desmond's right antennae twitched, but every other sinew and muscle of his body stilled. Tightening.

"It's getting harder to find our technology. You understand? Our best chance is to try and get a signal out."

"Did… you- you agree… to this?"

This must have been one of the things they talked about in the meeting, the one that Christopher had gone to.

A thorough clean up and sweep at D9 occurred after the relocation. Officially it took a full year and 3 months to sweep every shack, container and through every junk pile in the process. They had missed things, few and small; certainly not enough to recover enough fuel though. Or perhaps that was what Christopher had decided.

"Why me?" Desperation plagued that voice, and if not discernible by his clicks than it was certainly present in the air now.

"You should be a part of our rescue efforts." He nodded.

Desmond blinked, and shook slightly.

"Wh… What?"

Christopher made a half step closer. It was an expression, Desmond recognized, he wasn't fooling around.

"I remember that first year and a half. How you… hurt. _A'kau'rru'__.__"_

And how patient Christopher had been, how much he and his son sacrificed to look after him. There was a time where he had only been hateful and loathing of the creatures. A painful process, and with a flinch he stepped back feeling betrayed by Christopher's notion.

"Desmond?"

The previous frustration had somehow uplifted from Christopher. A look in his eye brought forth concern, and perhaps even a bit of wonder. There were times where human and alien could not find common ground; frustration was easy to muster, surprise however came with an unguarded shock. And neither could form enough words or expressions to explain themselves.

Silence, Desmond had learned, was the better alternative to this frustration, this annoyance and inconvenience. It had once been the opposite, the silence once dreadful; all he could do was fill it with curses and unintelligible ranting. As if it would fix itself, or provide Christopher the means to ignore any attempts to clarify.

"Yes…- I did. I said… _sorry_. Many, many… - times."

"We have an opportunity."

He snorted, shook his head and picked up the bucket.

"Why does… it – it even matter?"

Christopher trailed behind him.

"This must… mean, you have given up."

"_Kau_. This would be our best chance."

"No." Desmond was certain of it now.

Christopher stopped. Took his arm and yanked him back.

He stiffened. A flush of anger spread to his throat, his gills flared briefly and tightened with a sharp breath, antennae twitched rapidly.

"Tonight, we will board the mothership. We will re-activate and boost our signal. They will know where we are, and they will come. We will bide our time, but they will come."

"For how long?! Three more? Ten!"

The grip on his arm tightened. Could see the plates on Christopher's face constrict in a growing scowl.

"It's over. It was over a… - long, time ago." He didn't think these words would deter Christopher, or affect him in any way. Desmond refused to stay long enough to observe anything beyond it. He pulled himself away, free, and hurried along to the tent.

When he arrived Oliver was playing with Theo, encouraging him to speak. Theo warbled and trilled; made odd vocalizations that must have been cute in alien terms, but resounded in clicks and clacks, buzzing noises in different sub-vocalizations that drove him crazy sometimes. Like a mini non-stop construction site.

"Hi Desmond… Where did father go?"

"He's on his way."

The young adolescent nodded. Paused in thought and then chirped as he started up again.

"Theo said something today." Oliver smiled.

"Guess what he said."

"Not now." He was standing, avoiding eye-contact and fidgeting with his hands; sweeping his eyes into the small living space of the tent.

"I'm… - going out."

"But… Theo's hardly seen you today. And I think he really wants- ," Oliver stopped himself.

Desmond had left.

* * *

He returned for dinner. He ate in silence as the other two conversed lightly. Theo was looking at him, making those horrible clacks.

Eventually the child gave up.

"When do we leave?"

"Before the sun starts to set."

Desmond nodded, confirmation of his attendance, and went back to eating the slop in his can.

Later on, just as the sun was about to set Christopher and Desmond made their way to a particular tent. It was in the thick of District 10, deeper into camp and slightly off from its center. The activity was high here. It wasn't the same heady scent from the full moon, but it was thick enough that it made him uneasy. Some eyes followed their path, most ignored them.

A rather large alien sat at its entrance. He stood up, gaining the eyes of some of the prawn near him and trilled in greeting to Christopher.

"He's waiting for you."

He paused to look at Desmond. A gruff snort summed his impression.

"The hybrid?"

"He's allowed to come."

Desmond didn't respond, he just stared into the tent. He had only ever been called once to a meeting, after D9's relocation. Not once after that.

The prawn let them through.

There were two prawns that looked to see who had come. The older one greeted them both with a similar trill.

"We are ready to start."

The old one glanced at Christopher's old, worn backpack.

"I have the fluid, and the tools I need."

"Food and water?"

"Yes. Both of us do."

"What was your name?"

"Desmond." He tilted his head. No one really talked to him. It was hard to tell if the prawn was genuinely interested.

It simply gruffed, and walked a few paces to a part of the tent that had boards on the ground. He lifted them to reveal a dark hole.

"This is Nick."

Nick. He appeared roguish. Unlike the guard at the front, he didn't have any piercings. But his eyes reminded Desmond of some of the prawn gang members. There was a dark purpose in them, beyond the dull look that most 'workers' had.

He was slightly taller than Christopher, broader shoulders and thicker limbs; still reasonably thin, just fuller, and sharper than most.

Nick regarded him with his eyes.

Desmond caught them, and nodded as was custom.

The prawn merely looked away, past him and to the hole in the ground.

"Nick first, Christopher and Desmond." The old one said. He flung a knotted rope down. It was attached to a fixture on the ground.

Nick grabbed for one of the alien weapons. It had a sling attached to it, allowing him to carry it against his back. A smaller weapon was attached to his thigh with a homemade holder from confiscated duct tape.

"Here, you will have a weapon each." The old prawn picked up two that each had a sling attached.

"Try not to lose them." He raised a brow at Desmond.

"Ah, yeah…" Desmond frowned briefly at the prawn, before watching Nick start down the rope.

"How uh… how far is it?"

"I would say around three stories. A fall is not in your best interests."

Desmond snorted, shaking his head and giving the hole an uneasy look.

His heart was in his throat and his hands felt like they were shaking uncontrollably when he started. He took his time at the first bit, receiving a goodbye from the old one as he went down. Soon enough all light disappeared.

There were moments where he couldn't tell if he had made any progress. He'd taken too many pauses perhaps. He was beginning to lose his sense of direction, despite the ever nagging pull of gravity; his hands and arms sore. Eventually he found the ground and bumped into Christopher. His hands stretched out to steady himself in the darkness.

"H-how long… ah- is this, going to take?"

"Twenty minutes." Nick responded. "We move out now."

The dull sound of footsteps muddled in the air. Desmond kept one hand against the side wall, and one out in front of him. He kept jabbing his hand into Christopher's back.

"Hold on to my shoulder." He insisted.

Desmond relented, feeling awkward; after so many days and months of sleeping together. The in-between of dream and consciousness, a pleasant touch no longer bothered him. He could lie to himself, think it only natural for him to want some tactile form of comfort. Most living things, he suppose – sought for it. A dog, cats, domestic things and wild animals; must only be instinct, he told himself.

Nonetheless, he whirled in a quiet thank-you between them.

The awkwardness quickly lifted, his grip relaxed; and he could breath normally again. The walls no longer closing, entrapping them as they pushed forward.

* * *

_(1) A'kau'rru' _~ Inspired from the Korean noun **aswium (ASH-i-oom)**; the mingled feeling of disappointment, frustration, and regret that results from an unsatisfactory situation ( .com); OR a mingling of unsatisfaction, wistfulness, disappointment, regret, higher hopes, frustration and sadness that something has to or did not happen ( .vu)

… _to be continued._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes:** Another chapter. A lot of the Poleepkwa caste system and culture was done in collaboration with toramarikama; through our rps. Just wanted to give that shout out. 8) Well, enjoy! Reviews are much appreciated!

**Warnings: **Mild language.

* * *

"Keep low." Nik hissed for the second time.

Desmond flicked his antennae.

The only cover that they could afford included patches of long grass and bushes of weed. Otherwise, a rocky, desolate land spanned in every direction; the city and its massive sky rises stood on guard all around.

They bumped into construction zones. Signs of demolition prep reflected a construction project right on the precipice of getting underway. Eager to erase what had once been a shamble of a refuge for their alien visitors. As they traversed forwards Christopher stopped them.

"This is it."

"Down!" Nik grated out.

Head beams flashed in the distance.

A truck with mounted gear on the front was heading straight towards them.

The vehicle stopped several meters from their site, lights promptly turned off as one individual scrambled from the driver's seat. The clack of metal resounded before he wandered out ahead; a flashlight probing the small group.

"No, wait." Christopher barked, placing a firm hand on Nik's shoulder.

Desmond stiffened when he caught the familiar face. His heart stopped; he stood straight up in lieu of Nik's impending hiss.

"Fundiswa? Fundiswa?!"

The figure stopped. Perhaps confused from what Desmond had said; it sounded nothing like the actual pronunciation of the name.

Before the man could react, the monstrosity of Desmond's new body grabbed him in a hug. Warbles, both ecstatic and mournful escaped him. Uncertain words came out of the man. Nervous laughs started wheezing, his voice became frantic.

"… please, stop… Stop, STOP IT, YOU PUT-AHHH!"

He loosened his hold, shaking. His hands shifted back until he gripped either side of him. The man stared back with uncertainty until it finally hit him.

"… Wikus?" He laughed; uncertain. "Wikus, is that you?"

He nodded furiously.

He sunk to his knees, his hands trailed down with him. He would have never thought that this sort of shock would overcome him. After straight two years and a half…

Fundiswa kneeled down with him, dropped the shovels and faced his former boss.

"… my god. Wikus."

Nik's face pinched to one side briefly, a sharp hiss scratching the air.

"What is he doing?"

"Don't mind him…"

Christopher trilled as he approached Fundiswa.

"We must start now." He picked the shovels and handed one to Nik. He glanced briefly at _Desmond_, before turning his back and getting to work.

"He is useless." Nik clicked.

Desmond couldn't quite understand the state he found himself in. The human hand on his shoulder brought his gaze up. There should have been tears, but the damned things didn't cry like humans. He found himself at a lack of words. Unbelievably happy to discover the face of someone he once knew.

Fundiswa brought his hand back.

"This is… amazing Wikus."

The man laughed warmly, his teeth flashing. He said Wikus' name again, as if saying it had finally made him real again. But the reaction brought a stabbing realization to _Desmond_.

He shook his head, gripping his head in a purely human gesture.

"How did you…?"

"I no longer work for MNU… I… I saw everything Wikus. The-." His looked away into the landscape.

"- those experiments. What they were doing to the prawns. The trial didn't even see them through, you know?" A short laugh puffed into the air. "They shut me up. The whole thing went quiet…"

He raised his eyebrows.

"And now?"

"The UN. They took pity on me." He snorted.

"Figured they'd take action here, you know. Started interfering with MNU, the city; now they have to give a little…"

He stood up.

"The thing has gone international now."

"Recently?"

"Yeah… sort of. Your friends look like they could use your help, yeah?"

Desmond nodded numbly.

He stood up and grabbed a shovel from Fundiswa. He walked with him as they approached the growing hole.

"What about… Tania?" He warbled.

"Tania?" He frowned.

"Oh! Right… your wife? She… she's good Wikus. She's been fighting for alien rights for the past two years now."

"She has?"

"Yeah." He started shoveling, a smile etched across the man's face.

"I'll tell her, yeah?"

"She didn't… re-marry? Or…"

Fundiswa shook his head.

Desmond was quiet then.

After a half hour they hit the metallic frame of the drop ship. Christopher opened it and led them inside. Fundiswa stood on the ground, looking on as Desmond climbed down.

"Hey Wikus."

He stopped to look up.

"Be careful. Maybe I'll see you again, eh?"

Desmond nodded, forced a smile on his prawn face; one that Fundiswa probably wasn't even aware of. He tentatively waved at him before the hatch door started closing.

* * *

Once in the ship Desmond stood behind Christopher as he sat. Holographic words and instruments glowed brightly in the dim light of the cabin. The prawn worked at them expertly, the ease and familiarity shocked Desmond.

He glanced briefly at Nik from the other side. There was hardly a pleasant thing to him, but he appeared just as fascinated with the controls as he was.

With an unexpected chirp the whole thing thrummed and rocked into existence.

Propelled upwards; the sound of sand running along the hull sent shivers down his spine. And then it was quiet, except for the sound of engines propelling them towards the mothership.

Despite all that he had learned from Fundiswa, and as little as it had truly been, an excited thrill bypassed the numbness that settled with him in that silence. No longer caring for the thoughts of the future, what could be; the ifs and the paranoid drift of thought.

A few minutes passed as the ship resounded with a dull thud, locked into its berth.

Christopher pulled away from the controls to stand, eyeing them both.

"We need to get to the command room."

* * *

The air was stale as Desmond entered the corridor. Dull glowing lights lit the way.

"How far is it?"

"Not sure. The… 'elevator shafts' are not working."

"What?" He didn't recognize the words.

"The machine that transports people up and down levels."

"Oh… okay."

Christopher led them away in some direction. The air was moist as they went further. Desmond would have expected some sort of moss or growth to appear along their way. But there was no such thing. Just cold steel, designs along the grooves and closed off corridors and rooms as they went.

Christopher stopped them and pressed a palm to one of the side panels. Holos appeared before him. He muttered something Desmond couldn't catch in time, before the outlines of a door appeared. A low whirring sound briefly emitted before the outlined door was pushed in like an indent. Then slid away to reveal some sort of chamber.

"Service corridor." Christopher clicked promptly.

"We can access the level underneath command from here."

Desmond found himself entering after Christopher. Holos and screens lit up in the large room. Another sound emitted, as if in a double, high-pitched warning.

"What was that?"

"Hull breach." Christopher viewed and slid some holos around. He stopped on a tab that provided a schematic of the ship.

"That… that looks like, something we did." Desmond noticed, pointing. There were multiple breaches and manmade holes into various levels.

"Yes, the humans... When they evacuated us out they must have tried to sweep the whole ship."

Desmond paused for a second. Staring madly at the schematic, as Christopher issued out a concerned whirl.

"Aren't there medical machines?" He croaked. Couldn't help himself asking, knowing how many times they'd argued over the possibility of accessing them when he had been changing. Or after the fact; but every time Christopher's logic would remain firm. They needed to find more fuel before they went, searching, scrounging for more. A small trip to the mothership and back wasn't worth the possibility of being stranded on Earth for eternity. Christopher needed all of it in order to return to his people for help. But that had been the past; their plans had changed.

"They're here, aren't they?"

Christopher manipulated the holo again, perhaps even slowly on purpose. He gave pause as he stared at another schematic.

"Well?" Desmond prompted.

"They… appear inoperable."

"… you're fucking me." He glared at Christopher.

"You fokking lied to me."

Christopher closed his eyes with a quiet release of air.

"I did not think they would be inoperable." Christopher's eyes reopened with a steady gaze.

"Fokk! Fokking hell!" Desmond staggered back.

"There's no fokking hope for me, is there?" His voice had become weak. The flare of heat and anger skipped a beat and died just as quickly.

"The signal is _our_ hope… and it appears to be yours as well."

There had always been a margin of uncertainty for Desmond. A year living like them yielded the uncertainty that Tania had truly become an impossible feat. She had loved him then, and god forbid, she still loved him now.

His face tightened, frowned as he shook his head.

"There's only a couple hours." Nik pushed him hard by the shoulder, causing him to hit the side of the wall.

"Let's move." He barked, cutting the air like a buzz-saw.

Christopher's gaze did not change. He released Desmond's eyes and approached the opposite end to open another door. This one shot up vertical.

"The anti-gravity feature is activated through this chute."

Nik went in after him.

With a shaky hiss Desmond jogged after the pair.

He reached for the ladder handles first with his hands, and then followed with his feet. By the time the anti-gravity took him, both feet dangled haphazardly in the air.

He looked down and saw an infinite set of ladder steps eventually curve down below him and disappear. His mouth pieces floundered ahead of his face as a succession of squeaks and chitters bounced into the corridor.

When he finally gathered himself he looked up. The pair of them weren't too far off. He began pushing himself up, gaining momentum the further he went and feeling more confident as he started to shoot up. He stopped himself several times for fear of losing control or going too fast.

Desmond continued to follow them, exiting from a similar maintenance room, the door leading out to a great big hallway. It was at least ten times bigger in terms of its height and girth.

"Are we almost there?"

"Just about," Christopher responded.

* * *

The command deck was massive. Everything was smooth against the glow of light lining about the ceilings and pathway.

Desmond's eyes rested on the center piece. Some sort of massive chair surrounded by a circular consol desk. His eyes continued to marvel at what all of humanity had been curious to pry into. He moved quietly towards Christopher, who had taken a seat in one of several chairs that lined the circular perimeter. It was rather too large for Christopher, perhaps a body two times his size would sit comfortably.

"What now?"

Christopher paused as he glanced at the terminal set before him; his fingers hovering.

"We make contact."

He pressed something. The whole command room thrummed alive. Desmond squinted briefly from the vicious appearance of bright light. A large screen like projector, a hologram of some sort flashed into existence far above them.

"What are you doing?" Desmond clicked softly, eyes transfixed by their surroundings.

"Routing power to this pod and our communication lines only."

A brief warning stopped Christopher. Instead of looking at his terminal Desmond shot his eyes against the projector. It made perfect sense to him. Small blips on the map zoomed in and enhanced, the image spoke for itself; several helicopters in bound.

Christopher grunted, plugging away and cutting off the lights and everything nonessential to their task. Nothing but his pod and the low glow of the command deck indicated power. Desmond's eyes watched from behind, none of it made sense; only that their time was limited and Christopher didn't seem anywhere close to making a point of contact.

"What's taking so long?"

"Something I did not expect."

"We don't have that much time." He cursed under his breath.

Ten minutes must have passed until Christopher sat back, waited, his breath slow and his eyes staring into the screen ahead.

Sound buzzed into the room suddenly, something electronic that made Desmond's antennae feel funny, drawn out. Christopher adjusted something against his head, some sort of communication apparatus that curved along his skull. The sound bleeped out.

Christopher leaned forward, about to speak. There were only bits that Desmond understood.

"This is Na'chek, engineer on the - ... Stranded. Repeat, we are stranded. Require assistance immediately, held hostage by planet's inhabitants. No known high caste members available. Location estimated to be- ..."

The rest was beyond his knowledge.

And then there was silence.

Christopher adjusted something on the terminal.

No response.

"That's all we can do for now."

He took the apparatus off, got up and started moving out the way they came from.

"Wait… we didn't contact anyone though."

"No. I boosted the signal. It's all we can do."

"But that solved nothing. Absolutely nothing. How do you expect to wait for something like that?!"

"If we do not leave now we won't be able to get off."

"Fokk, Christopher! You really screwed up didn't you? We're all trapped; you, me, your god forsaken people for christ's sake!"

He fumed right until they got onto the floor that would have otherwise led them back to the drop ship.

But a flash of laser sparkled passed Desmond as they rounded a corner. He scrambled for Christopher, pulled him back behind the wall where they both fell down and scrambled up to their feet.

Nik started firing. The smell of ionized air and burnt flesh quickly erupted in the corridor. The sharp, heavy mechanical ring of gun fire pitted against the walls around them.

"Fokk! Shit!"

Desmond fumbled for the gun.

Christopher breathed heavily behind him, fumbling for his weapon until he propped it just about in his hands.

"The hell we going to do now?"

* * *

… _TBC._


	4. Chapter 4

Another chapter! Enjoy!

-R.R.

* * *

They turned and started running, Christopher leading them further into the mechanical labyrinth. Desmond had already lost his sense of direction and reluctantly followed the prawn. Passing hallways, hearing the blaze of the arc gun from behind until they passed through another door, another set of hallways. After a while they'd run fast enough, and turned down several corridors that they could no longer hear steps, or the howl of army men at their backs.

It was an eerie silence, Desmond noticed. His thoughts muddled with adrenaline; nothing but the sounds of their prawn feet hitting the cold metal ground, gills sucking wind. He suspected that it was too quiet, perhaps the men with guns had cornered them, waiting for their approach.

Eventually Christopher stopped them at a closed doorway.

"Our ship should be on the other side of this door. But the humans are most likely guarding it."

Christopher shared a glance with Nik, and lastly on Desmond. The prawn's fingers gripped his gun.

"I'll open the door. You two clear the hallway out. We can sprint for the shuttle."

Desmond briefly shut his eyes before he readjusted his gun to aim. He and Nik waited on opposite sides. They both nodded towards Christopher before he set the door open.

Only a few men in white stood in their way, vaporized by the sudden onslaught. Desmond nearly slipped from the amount of blood and moist human remains. Scrambling, and tumbling into the shuttle after Christopher. Cursing under his breath.

The hatch door shut behind Nik, the engines thrummed alive and the berth released them in free fall.

The thrum of engines quickly followed, instantaneously. None of them said a word to each other, while Christopher took to the controls. Even then, as some sort of alien adrenaline pulsed through his body, it was getting hard for Desmond to breath. Hyperventilating, as fear provided twisting knots somewhere in his gut; the thought of becoming an experiment, of being detained and interrogated relentlessly shadowed above him. It had become death.

As soon as the drop ship thudded back onto solid earth, they darted out and sprinted towards the dark hole; helicopters swarmed the sky behind them, accompanied by beam lights scouring the air and ground in haste. Desmond yelped as one of the beams shot out behind them.

He clambered for the rope and slid down; dark and damp as they jogged and entered the ground hole. A dull _boom_ rocked the tunnel several meters from the entrance. Gravel and dirt trickled down from the tight space. The uneasy, unsettling earth surrounding them shivered all about.

Desmond chittered uncontrollably.

He didn't like the tight space, and how hard it was to navigate. He could barely see Christopher's plated body ahead of him. All the while the air seemed rather thin as they moved, his prawn gills sucking at the air erratically.

"S-stop… I- I need… I can't, breathe…"

He doubled over, used the dirt wall to hold him.

Christopher laid a hand on his shoulder, started cooing. He growled back, swat his hand away and forced himself up. He shook momentarily before he started walking. Gasping between steps, trying to calm his breath but it was difficult to find the right pace.

He had to stop again; Desmond didn't have the breath to protest this time. He merely fell to his knees and slumped over.

The world pressed in on him. The walls, the air; the feeling of his throat and gills as they quivered, until the darkness shut him out completely.

* * *

For a while Desmond knew nothing, unconscious and limp. Strangely when he awoke he didn't startle. His antennae flickered briefly; he knew where he was. _Home_.

"It would have taken us five generations to arrive on the planet. A new home for our future children."

"Why did you leave in the first place?"

"We wanted to colonize other worlds. Ours was getting much too big… You know this already." The clicks were tinged with amusement.

There was a pause. Hesitation; before soft, shy alien words pricked the air.

"I like hearing about it... Tell me about your family."

The adult grunted, didn't say anything; perhaps fiddling with the child in his hands as he contemplated the request.

"I hatched in Jesk'k, a coastal city. Its history is one of much bloodshed, when wars took place between the different colonies. Alphas only partook in alliances with territorial benefits, and at one point whole continents waged wars against the other. But many centuries past the great unification has made it calm. And like many other colonies it has thrived on its own through centuries of peace time.

I had two fathers; both of them shared strong bloodlines in Jesk'k. Each a part of the working caste as engineers."

"You had brothers?"

"Yes."

"What were they like?"

"One was very firm, and the other soft. I did not get along with the firm one often. We were much too alike to agree on anything, thinking we were right and the other wrong."

"Shouldn't alike people enjoy the same things?"

"Personality wise we were both very stubborn, and very opinionated."

"And the soft one?"

"Young and pliable, I only knew him as a child before I left with a handful of our people."

"I remember. You came alone, without your family."

"Yes."

Oliver made a small, trilling noise. Meek sounding, sad almost.

Desmond could hear a shuffling, a soft familiar purr extended into the air. Christopher, as he soothed any fears his boy might have had then; anxieties or worries. It had always sent him reassurance, confidence in the unknown.

"I have you, my Vrrah-jek."

Desmond could hear his child chirping then, imagining those wide eyes searching into Christopher's face, or perhaps Oliver's.

Oliver's voice joined briefly in a purr, picking up Theo.

"As long as we're together."

They didn't know he'd been awake. And so far Desmond would rather keep it that way. He felt tired, weak; more so from the implications of the night's activities, and what they meant. It wasn't so much a conscious stream of thought that wore him down. He'd ignored it, ignored repeating that it was really over for him. That there was no way out of his body; its sensations, its consequences and mental 'drag'. The weight of it just seemed to sit heavily on his head, as though an elephant might have sat on his chest.

He thought about trying to get more sleep, until the alarms started roaring. He sat straight up, adding to Christopher's startle along with his son. It only took a moment before Theo started screeching his head off.

They could hear the sound of the heavy barricade doors opening. While Christopher had decided to avoid gang territory, they resided in an area somewhat bordering the edges of their tent community; just so, but not completely to the outsides. Thick enough that it was still considered suicidal for an MNU operative to wander on his lonesome, or with an entourage of four other men.

Oliver was trying to sooth his nervous son, while Christopher stood up and out of the tent. Reluctantly he went too. Poking his head out after, and noticing that mostly every other tent had brought each prawn's attentions.

"See anything?"

"No."

The sirens died down. Replaced by that of humans echoing out across the compound; the dredge of their clothing, and the clack of guns following their wake. Desmond wasn't sure if he could say for certain, but the faint sound of engines roamed briefly in the activity.

And then, silence.

Prawns standing still, in the way prawns often did. The clattering of their language hardly present, not even grunts or bellows of nonsensical warnings.

"My name is Ignatius Jacobs, speaking on behalf of MNU. From now on, and every month, we will be carrying out inspections. We will in-act a zero tolerance policy. If you refuse to comply with the field marshals and their men, force will be used."

The sound of the Afrikaans man was harsh in the camp's speakers. Someone new, Desmond thought; he didn't recognize the name. It blared all about them from every direction with the same piercing sting.

"Stay in your tents until called upon. For your best interests all contraband materials and weapons should be laid out on the open. You will be detained if these are hidden from us."

It cut out.

The air thickened with hostility so great it made Desmond's head feel light; inciting a desire to defend, defend… _fight_.

"Fokk…"

Fighting through the fog of this bizarre, inner drive, he could think up of only two plausible explanations for this visit.

One, an excuse to cut down the population. District 10 officially started out with 2.5 million prawns. It could have easily reached nearly 3 million now; the district wasn't built to contain the prawns indefinitely. _Wikus_, or rather Desmond, had only understood it as a 'step up' from District 9. A step in the 'right direction'; with plans set in place to build attachments and services with money supplemented from the government. He'd seen the plans once; but over the course of three and a half years, considering most things political, agendas could have shifted and plans for new and 'better' things burned.

Two; his adventure with Christopher and his 'friend' could have sparked something. Perhaps MNU had always planned for something like this. What if that signal was so strong, that humans had easily recognized the source of escaping radio waves? Powerful streams of energy, pouring out into the darkness; a cry for help that MNU had worked so hard to cut off… They needed to know why, and how. They needed the culprits, or at least a means to shut it off.

But then, perhaps nothing could be detected? And all they understood, Desmond imagined, was that somehow those nasty prawns had found their way back into their ship. Got there and escaped, despite all their measures.

And inevitably something might just happen.

* * *

Helicopters flooded a few minutes after. Quickly, all sorts of noises rose up from every end of the district.

Desmond could feel it; something he'd never felt before. 'The people' were angry, they were restless.

"Chris? Ah… Christopher?" He clacked hysterically.

"We're staying inside." The prawn seemed to snap. Visibly agitated by the way his face seemed to pinch on one side.

And then the guns started spluttering out, automatics and semis. The hollow thud of a sniper rifle in the distance. Desmond fell to his knees with a yelp, as did Oliver. Christopher crouched down and moved away from the opening of the tent.

"Father, the lessons! They'll find them."

Wide eyed, and shaky, Oliver reminded his father of the small notebook they had both been working on.

"I'll get it." He ground out.

"Both of you, into the nest! Down, now."

Christopher crawled to the other back corner, which wasn't far. Flinching and ducking whenever bullets seemed to cruise by.

He returned with the notebook. Hunkering down on Oliver's opposite side.

"We will need to eat the pages."

Desmond clung himself to Oliver. Theo muttered noises between them, nuzzling into Desmond's neck; seeking comfort, the presence of his father sufficient enough to calm.

Christopher ripped out the handful of pages with alien glyphs and things he didn't recognize. He received a few, as did Oliver. Nervously he shoved the pieces, pulp and ink, down his throat. It didn't matter then if his throat had been extremely dry; it would have been too suspicious if it was found.

Outside of their flimsy tent the world erupted into chaos. Smuggled alien weaponry was met with metal bullets and explosives. No one outside of MNU would hear of this, he thought. And if they did, there would be a carefully crafted story to surround the ordeal.

_Tania._

He thought fleetingly - of the outside world.

She was still out there, fighting. Was she tired? Had she become just as doubtful as he had? He wavered, and pushed the thoughts away with a weak cry. A prawn thing, something the children often did when calling for their parents; he couldn't help it. He pushed himself closer into their group, grasping for Christopher's arm, squeezing, holding on to.

They both protected their children, arms wrapped from either side.

As the violence continued to rise, Christopher began cooing. Quietly at first, but Desmond could distinctly hear it. His body relaxed a little, his mind drifted just slightly. Fighting off the inane turmoil that seemed not to be his own.

.

* * *

Vrrah-jek: A term of endearment for family. But it holds significance to one's 'heir', genetically speaking and socially. A parent takes honor in the rearing of and preparation of their child's training into their trade/caste setting. Finding joy in the good and the bad times.

… _TBC. _


	5. Chapter 5

**NOTES:** Ah, too excited for this. Another chapter!

**Warnings:** Mild violence, including some humiliation, language, and alien sexuality (in terms of reproductive capabilities, not the actual act; brief mention)

~ R.R

.

* * *

_3 hours_

Three hours had passed. All together is seemed like an eternity for Desmond.

Footsteps and human yelling; the ka-ching and clack of gunfire followed by dull thuds, or the crunch of exoskeleton splitting.

The residents in this section did not have alien weaponry to defend themselves. These were not the gang areas that had smuggled as much as they could from the tunnels. But some of them would fight regardless; the same feeling he had felt before it started, that rage, the harmonized flood of emotions singing strongly against his breast.

But he remained fearful, agitated. Perhaps his 'human' instincts were still in-tuned.

Footsteps reached the tent opening. For now their section appeared rather quiet. Again, if there had been any struggles it ended quickly with gunfire, and the distinct yelp or uncertain whirl of the prawns about.

"Section E 2-340. Christopher Johnson and Desmond Stewart; out of the tent, now! Hands in the air!"

Shakily he got up. Theo's sad face lingered on him as Christopher led them out. Not once did he glance back at Desmond, not once to reassure by a glance or a pat on the back. As if he was completely on his own now.

"Fucking prawns-. " The man grumbled underneath his breath. His glare shot at him. "Hands up, now!"

He brought them higher, albeit painfully; they would not last the strain for more than a few minutes. As of now his chittering sounds would not stop, leveling on a volume that obviously annoyed the man at the head of the inspection. Some of his gunmen noticed; the ones who were not preoccupied or suspicious of the movements about them. Shark teeth flashed as they grinned, gaggled as they passed dialogue.

Strangely Desmond was having trouble hearing; and the inspector's voice just about made sense. The rest was background sound, dull and washed up in nonsense.

"On your knees." Another command.

Christopher and he complied. Not once did this remind Desmond of his past life. Not now; he was far too involved to even glimpse into those dark and sordid thoughts.

The inspector sighed, going through his paper work. Glancing at Christopher, checking something off, and then to him.

"Do you have any children?"

"Yes." Desmond responded at about the same time as Christopher. The man pursed his lips.

"One at a time, yeah? Christopher Johnson, any children?"

"Yes."

"Registration number and name?"

"82347 RT, Oliver Johnson."

"Good. And Desmond Stewart?"

He panicked. He didn't remember the registration number; why would they expect them to know?

"I… I do not remember the… the registration number."

"Alright…" The way the inspector intoned that word made him feel sick.

"I know." Christopher declared.

"672 WH 73, Theodore Stewart." The inspector went about his paperwork, curtly nodding.

"You two a couple or something?" He snorted, amused.

"No," Christopher responded. "Friends."

"Sure. We'll have the children out now."

"Oliver!" Christopher called. After a few seconds his boy appeared, holding Theo who screeched uneasily at the humans.

"The devil's loud." One of the guards spoke, bearing a sneer across his face.

"On your knees, beside him." The man pointed to Christopher, and continued.

"Is there any contraband or illegal alien weaponry I need to be made aware of?"

Christopher spoke for them.

"No."

"Again, if there is anything suspicious found in your tent, there will be consequences. Is there anything we should be made aware of?"

"No."

"Okay. Guys; keep your eyes on them. Rob, let's do this."

"Aye, sir."

Two guards watched them. Their guns faced side long, but remained in their hands.

"Can't you shut up the bloody thing?"

Oliver looked warily at them, and spoke before his father could and shook his head in response.

"He's frightened."

"Can't the shit stand on his own?"

"Yeah, unless there's something wrong with it."

The previous guard, amused by this gestured at Oliver with his gun. Desmond could see Christopher flinching, as if nearly holding back his instincts to attack the human.

"Let's see, yeah? Just put it down. It's a wonder it's still alive."

Rummaging could be heard from their tent, but it mattered not. Desmond's uneasiness pushed into his throat; he stifled a cough and swallowed hard.

"Please." He said suddenly.

"Leave the child alone, please…"

"You hear that? Prawn's giv'n us orders now."

"C'mon, put the little shit down." The one man roared.

Oliver looked nervously at his father, all sharp and tense, brooding. The prawn huffed uneasily from his gills and nodded once. His gaze landing on the men; watched them carefully.

"Right 'ere." He pointed with his rifle, a spot just outside of their reach.

Oliver whimpered, cooed briefly to Theo before placing him down. Reluctantly shifting back to his place with eyes downcast.

Theo continued to clack and screech. On his rump, as he looked at all their faces. Too frightened to move, his hands fumbled at one of its feet to grip on to. Nervously pawing at itself, as if trying to figure out why no one wanted to pick him up.

"It's kind of fat, ain't it? For a prawn?" The man chuckled. He was about to nudge it with the butt of his gun, to get it going. Desmond couldn't stand for it though, and he lunged murderously for his child, hissing at them as he sheltered Theo.

The men startled; guns aimed together at his head.

"Leave him alone!"

He shook as he squatted over Theo. Issuing out verbal threats.

By then, other inspectors and guards had noticed. Some had stopped, readied their guns to assist the men if it came to that.

The inspector opened the tent's flap.

"Well, everything checks ou-, the hell is going on?!"

The man stood just outside the tent. Desmond whipped his head after him, just about scooped Theo up and stilled. Clutching the child to his chest and whirling sharply.

"I told them to stop!" He spat.

The inspector shifted his gaze from Desmond to the guards.

"Can we put the guns down, _please._"

"But sir! We didn't-"

"Fuck, like I care! Put them down… now." The man said evenly.

"For god's sake…"

He tip-toed around the prawns and shook his head. Stepping up to one of the guards he jabbed a finger into his chest.

"Did you read the fucking manuals man? You don't touch the children, unless they've got no reason being there, eh?"

The guard clenched his jaw, and glared at the inspector. He said nothing.

"Well then. You're good; go back to your tent."

Desmond got onto wobbly legs and darted back in, slightly hunched over. Oliver followed after, Christopher behind them.

They could hear the same group interrogating and inspecting the tents beyond their own.

Desmond however, collapsed into the nest and rocked Theo protectively in his arms.

"Are you mad?!" He accused Christopher.

"You let them… traum… traumatize him like that?!"

Christopher would have remained silent, but he turned around and glared at the prawn from the nest.

"Well?! If it had been Oliver, would you have done the same thing?"

Christopher's glance seemed impartial to him. Guarded, but Desmond was beyond the subtle differences.

"Fokk you…" He smoldered at him. "Fokk you Chris! Fokking prawns…"

He continued to rock Theo, who whimpered in his arms. Held on to him, as if it had been the only thing that kept him from throwing his life away at those guards. How easy it would have been to charge at them, to let the cacophony of bullets aimed his way explode off.

Oliver remained quiet; huddled on his side to the farthest corner in the nest.

* * *

That night they slept separately. Desmond kept Theo to himself and his back to Christopher and Oliver.

He spent most of the night stroking the child's face, in a sort of half-dream daze.

Feeling sick, and nervous as he outlined the small plates of the child; slowly the day's events, and the previous night sunk in. Centered about Theo, finding some sort of satisfaction that he could sooth the child; provide respite and room for the simple thing to find rest, and sleep.

His flesh and blood, he thought in a nearly bitter air. A genetic replica, there was no use denying it.

It still pained him, that he had made the mistake of indulging himself too much during the last heat. Or rather, 'breeding season', as it was so plainly termed… He couldn't completely recall the event itself, all the previous heats – only two that he had experienced – had not been so bad. But Oliver had molted into his adult form, and it made the need to copulate that much stronger.

Not only had he condemned himself to a life of a prawn, but he had also condemned another life. So closely attached to him. Even now as he watched him sleep, and brushed gentle fingers across his boy; he felt sick and haunted by the thought that this creature was dependant on him.

His thoughts drifted back to Tania, which appeared to be a recent haunt now that he had heard news of her.

But these thoughts only came with emotions. Too tired to formulate words, or plans, the what ifs of their future; it was too uncertain to think about.

Weary and fraught with doubts Desmond finally fell asleep half-way through the night.

* * *

_4 days after._

_._

The food had not arrived for four days. Thankfully the water continued to run, and Christopher had stored some meager leftovers for such an occasion.

Inside the tent was more subdued than usual. Desmond didn't speak to Christopher directly, and avoided looking at him. This infuriated Desmond, because Christopher did not seem to respond to this in either way. Oliver remained hesitant, and that made him adept to childish outbursts.

With no sign of the humans, he wandered out from the tent as much as he could. Relinquishing Theo into Oliver's hands, and forgetting, once again, that he had a responsibility for the child; more than either of the prawns who, in all their alien grace, took care of the child like one of their own.

But rarely would he ever see Christopher with Theo after the incident.

At least in his presence.

He had noticed on his walks that MNU had erected small towers with cameras about the district. Protected by an electrical fence strong enough to deter the most calloused members of the colony; no one would touch them.

Without having to walk in its deepest parts he understood that the population had been downsized.

Rumors spread; more like truths between the people as word of this new infliction continued to anger them. But also, grief for their losses. Bodies of the dead prawns had been carried away by the humans; the considerable man power sent to inspect the district had only taken 3 days in total. Children who were not registered were taken, apparently into a 'holding room' to await registration to other prawn families. Among them the teenagers and the rare adult who had forged their registration or had none.

None of them had been returned.

When he retired to the tent after only a short stroll, Christopher regarded him.

"Desmond."

He turned to face him, eyes sharp and stubborn.

"Can we talk?"

He shrugged.

"Outside?"

Antennae flicked in annoyance. But after four days it seemed just about the right time to cool off. Perhaps he was ready to speak to him, no matter how foolish he'd been on his part.

Christopher got up from the ground, whirled to his son – playing with Theo – and walked out with the MNU 3 L container.

* * *

.

"How are you feeling?"

An odd question.

"Fine."

Answered with a lie. Despite how long they had been with each other, Desmond felt no need to be transparent with Christopher.

"The humans have nearly broken us."

"What do you mean by that?"

The prawn seemed to pause for a moment.

"There are three gangs that have nearly been destroyed. I suspect they will form an alliance with the Yu'kesh. They only reported minor losses. Only a few elders remain, and many children were taken."

"Why are you telling me this?" He sounded annoyed, cross.

"You were human once. I value your insight from such motives."

Desmond snorted. The prawn thought he was valuable by this one aspect, the thought was laughable.

"And?"

"What did your friend mention to you, before we left?"

He shrugged, about to say something before he thought on it more.

"Something about the UN, and… alien rights activists I suppose." He paused.

"How the hell did he get thrown into all of this?"

"The tunnels, the ones we used allowed us to communicate with allies. Human allies."

"You never mentioned this to me." He pouted with a sharp trill.

"We did not think it appropriate. You never mentioned allies of your own."

"What about my wife? She's been involved with this… this nightmare. And you didn't feel necessary to mention that to me?"

He said this slowly for the amount of words it took to say it. Some of the words slurring together, not quite distinct; Christopher took a moment to respond.

"I do not understand."

"My wife, she's been fighting for you prawns."

And me, he thought quietly.

"We were not aware of this. There were only a few people we contacted. None of these people mentioned your wife's name." The prawn paused, setting the container down.

"Tan'nniah?" He clicked in between.

"Tania." He grunted. Not much different from Christopher's attempt.

"Did your friend mention anything specific?"

Desmond shrugged; a purely human gesture.

"No. It sounded like the UN was putting more pressure on MNU though. Doesn't really mean anything…"

Christopher glanced at one of the video surveillance cameras.

"They will know something is wrong when are contacts cannot reach us."

"What were your plans?"

Christopher took a moment to consider this question.

"Recognition, help… The signal might push them to act sooner."

"Why?"

Gives an amused look.

"What do you suspect, Desmond?"

He wasn't going to answer; he wasn't a child. But he relented regardless.

"Well, fear most likely."

Christopher nodded.

"Your sensors should be able to detect the signal. It's very powerful now. The other countries will be made aware of it."

He filled the container up, nearly done.

"It pulses out from the ship. It will cause mild disturbances throughout the planet."

"That'll make people angry… depending on what you mean by 'mild' disturbances."

"We will see. But now all of your peoples will know, to some degree. At least your powerful nations will."

"Why didn't you just do this when you first came?" Wouldn't it have been obvious?

He started walking with the container, Desmond now forgetting about the incident. At least for now, it was buried in some recess of his mind.

"We were all sick, including myself… I did what I could at the time; because the ship had quarantined us. I did not possess the clearance to get out. You humans offered us hope, and we did not expect your ulterior motives."

.

.

.

* * *

.

…TBC! Reviews much appreciated; tell me what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes:** Another chapter, enjoy!

~ **R.R/Rue**

* * *

_3 years 6 months_

_._

_._

A month had passed since the first inspection and ushered in the second. Once more the prawns, 'the people' were angry and in mourning. Some of the children had been returned. Mostly to the families that had not been ripped apart by the first inspection. There were loads more waiting in some far off cell, some sort of limbo between D10 and the human world.

Angry, tense; yes, but somehow restrained.

Their colony managed, scraped by. Perhaps the only concerns were the young adolescents and fractured gang members, fierce and reckless.

The inspection finished in two days.

On the night of that second day Desmond faced Christopher in the nest; a rare occasion considering the day's most recent events.

He could see him in the dark, his prawn eyes adjusting easily in the night. Christopher slept soundly. Eyelids twitching, dreaming.

Desmond, once again, had become lost with emotional instability; unable to sleep. For most of the month he fell into a sort of depression. He suspected that it was his prawn body sympathizing with the rest of the colony. He had acquired a new sense to the world around him. Different from the individual scents he could capture, produce them on his own; this was bigger and stronger than him.

"Desmond?"

His clicks were quiet, soft, and careful not to wake the children clinging on to them.

Desmond didn't respond; his mouth pieces and mandibles clenched close to his face.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

In Christopher's stead Oliver had been saying that far too frequently throughout the days. He'd given up on genuinely playing with Theo, no longer actively involved in his care. But even as he was prompted by Christopher's silent glances, they did very little to motivate him.

He looked away, his eyes relaxing but not quite closing.

Theo at least, enjoyed the part where he could cuddle up to his father for bed time. Desmond caught sight of the little one clinging to his chest with his hands, face hidden and pressed into the angle between his body and the nest.

Those eyes continued to watch him. Silent; but the silences were starting to thin. The lack of communication came with a pressure to speak now. It was no longer final and void like it once was, providing peaceful disclosure.

"Tell me what's wrong."

Looking back he huffed quietly through his gills. Watching him again, too tired to feel perturbed by Christopher's attention.

"Afraid."

Carefully at first, Christopher's hand gently grabbed his shoulder. When Desmond simply stared on at him, unaffected by the gesture, Christopher brushed a hand alongside his head.

"I don't want you to isolate yourself… especially from us."

This was the fourth time he had heard this sentence from Christopher, or something similar. His human conditioning, a past-life that clearly divided human and Poleepkwa, male and female from hermaphrodite; made him an outcast; easy to isolate and suffer in loneliness. But to be one of them you were never alone. Despite all their fractures, their divisions between gangs and hostilities, their suffering and 'stupidity'; there was something out there stronger and distinctly hidden from him at the time.

He could only describe it as a feeling, only recognized it as a response to its will.

In the past, when Christopher had uttered such words, they provided only slight relief.

But these were small steps that had brought Desmond closer, revealing rare truths to this creature in the night. Patient, and unyielding; even if the day would threaten to erase the progress of these new found trusts.

"I'm not so sure about that anymore."

Tania was still out there. His angel had resurrected. Long ago when D10 had settled, there were 'Poleepkwa' resources connecting them to the outside world. Groups would offer books, medical services connected to organizations outside of MNU, teachers for basic reading and simple math skills. He went as often as he could in the hopes of finding her. Weeks quickly melted away into months, a year; however short, seemed long and tiring. Only a year had gone by before MNU shut the resource hub down.

Christopher's hand continued to stroke. His fingers trailed and traced the plates along his forehead. Desmond could hear his own sound of approval in the form of a low lying thrum. This was intimate, but not in the way that lovers caressed and soothed; the only love he experienced from the prawn had been fatherly love.

He had been guilty of wanting more.

And now that his heart ached for her, anew, this new alien world struggled to take root in his psyche.

"How come?"

"She's still looking for me. My mate, my… wife."

Desmond could not find anything different on Christopher's face. No response. But he had always been this way; stoic and emotionally guarded. Somehow pure in every intention, tolerant.

Impulsively, as he held Theo in one arm, he closed the distance between them. He pushed his head against the indentation of his throat, leaving an angle and room for his antennae to avoid getting caught. He shut his eyes, nuzzling briefly against his Guardian.

"I don't know what to do." His words intoned sadness, and shook as they vibrated. Confessing, as the child in his arms, neglected, clung jealously to his father. Sound asleep.

For a while the minutes rolled on with each breath from Christopher's gills. Had he done something wrong, he wondered.

"We are a family now. Yes?"

He would have never thought it possible. He blamed the night for the way it churned restlessly inside him. He hadn't changed, he couldn't have changed; both loving and hating the creature clinging against his chest. Grateful and indebted to the people who should have left him in the district to die; he was too broken, and indeed the night made these hurts soft and weak. Malleable to words as he considered what Christopher had said.

What was humanity? He thought vaguely. Out there, a world of stratification, of unequal powers and peoples fighting, struggling to live; clinging on to simple meanings or none at all. His world was dying, Christopher's people were dying. Were they so different?

"Yes."

Christopher's arm wrapped around, as if to reassure, a gesture to confide and neglect the demons telling him otherwise. The prawn started cooing, as was the cure for Desmond's fears and anxieties.

But there was a question, a pause and hesitation to believe in what he'd just said.

"The machines on the ship… I thought… but why wouldn't they?"

The sleep had finally hit him; quite suddenly and strong.

"Tampered with… human involvement, most likely."

"Are you sure?"

He hesitated. Christopher never hesitated, but Desmond was tired and time seemed so far away as he started to slip away.

"Yes."

* * *

Samuel was a simple prawn. He was one of Jackson's boys, an older prawn with several family members crammed into the tent beside them. They had helped Christopher keep in touch with the other members of the colony; passed information of gatherings and meetings, highlights of gang activity and rumors.

Desmond did not socialize often. He tended to avoid gatherings when he could, or the rare invitation. In reality they would always welcome him for a visit, but he rarely went.

Although, he didn't mind Samuel with his half left antennae and lame right leg; he could hobble and get around, running was out of the question.

He decided to accompany him, along with Oliver to the food trucks that week. Even with the extra pounds added to Samuel's weight from the parcels, he would manage.

"How is your little one Desmond?"

"Fine."

"Has he learned to speak?"

"Only a few words." Chimed Oliver with a proud smile.

Desmond could not mirror the same. And for a moment he began to reconsider his mutual preference for Samuel.

Samuel smiled.

"He can say dad, please, now, no, yes." Oliver went on.

Desmond cringed inwardly. The little blubber-bug would say it over and over again; _'dad now, please dad, now!'_

"Is he running about now?"

"Almost… I'm not looking forward to that."

Samuel snorted.

"Why?" Desmond shot out at Oliver without thinking, accusatory eyes on the boy.

Oliver huffed quietly, looking away and kicking a stone as they walked.

"He's going to be all over the place when he does."

More work, Desmond thought. His gaze broke, guilty for snapping at him.

"You never know. Most of the young ones stay close."

Oliver warily glanced at Desmond.

"No, not with Theo. He'll want to explore and see everything."

They approached the lineup, waiting at the end.

"There's not much to see." Samuel grunted.

Desmond's gaze wandered as the two of them continued to speak. He raised a brow to a far section of the encampment. A small crane had poked past D10's reinforced walls, about three times taller than the average prawn.

"Do you see that?"

Oliver followed his gaze.

"Must be constructing something…" Desmond mumbled.

"Maybe they're expanding. Do you see that Samuel?"

"Not really."

When they received their rations, they were pleased to notice an increase in their supplies. The mood in the area appeared calmer because of it; just slightly.

Oliver helped Samuel take one side of a crate, while Desmond held on to their food for the journey back. Children played in the mud, and kicked old, worn out balls made out of clothing. Some of the adolescents included.

One such group noticed Oliver passing by. A light-tanned prawn whirled playfully after him.

Oliver flicked his attention to the unfamiliar boy, curious. But after a few short seconds he ignored him, focusing on his destination as the other boy tried again to get his attention. Samuel hissed back in warning.

"You don't have to do that Samuel."

Oliver laughed afterwards.

"They need to know their place Oliver." He made a cautionary noise, a lilting warble.

"They'll just keep bothering you otherwise."

Oliver nodded, losing his smile.

After dropping by Jackson's briefly, they arrived to their tent.

Oliver trilled to his father, "They gave us more this week."

"This is good news."

Christopher provided his hands for Theo, as the young one stood up from the other end of the nest. Started walking with more confidence, a little less wobbling; he veered towards Desmond as soon as the child noticed.

"Dad!"

With hands stretched out and reaching, he stomp-walked closer with a wild grin. Desmond reluctantly crouched down, and received the child with welcoming screeches. Happy, it would appear.

He fought against himself as he hugged the little critter back.

Somehow the little bug seemed to forget how badly he would treat him; or rather, ignore. Theo proceeded to nuzzle into his chest.

"MNU is building something."

"Oh? I wonder how long it will take." Christopher stood up, having to hunch just slightly to avoid the roof of the tent. He retrieved the notebook and a pencil for Oliver.

"I wonder what it is…" He grabbed them from his father's hands.

"There are new problems for you to solve."

His father had crouched down and rested a hand on his son's shoulder.

"I want to play outside after."

Christopher and Oliver exchanged a look.

"With who?"

"With one of Jackson's."

Christopher raised a brow.

"Not Henry." He replied quickly.

"With Eli. And I'll stay within our section."

Christopher retracted his arm, thinking, before he glanced at Desmond.

"Will you go watch him?"

Desmond could see Oliver's struggle to protest; the slight wave of agitation making his antennae flutter briefly.

"Sure." He shrugged, and sat down on the floor. He tried putting Theo down too, but he clung close with bubbling purrs.

"He hasn't eaten much. Are you hungry Desmond?"

He nodded.

"A little."

Christopher rummaged through the new supplies, grabbing the fresh meat from a plastic bag and handed it over.

This finally caught Theo's attention, the smell of raw meat in the air made him abandon his previous pursuits.

Meanwhile, Christopher took a seat and watched the young one. Desmond ripped a piece for the child, standing in wait, and snatched it from his hands. Satisfied, the child sat down on his rump between his father's legs and ate.

* * *

Desmond followed after the two boys, another one joining as they walked to the nearest field in their area. The only field for Section E, with nothing but clumps of dirt and grass scattered about, shallow puddles and the outdoor showers to the side; at least the children enjoyed them.

"What are we going to do?"

"We could just run around." Oliver seemed to not care much.

"Sounds boring… What do you think Eli?"

The youngest of them had just molted. But the boy was mute and slightly skittish. He ducked his head, and gave a warble.

"Well… we could play tag."

"Sure." When they spotted the field Oliver darted off, yelling, "Last one's it!"

Eli dashed behind him, while their friend whirled in annoyance and sprinted after.

There were several other prawns about, little ones and teenagers; young adults sparring and wrestling in the dirt while their friends chided to one another; adults watching their young.

Things did seem brighter, Desmond thought.

He had only been here a few times, when things were not so violent and uncertain.

There was nowhere to hide in D10, nowhere to run. The first year put the prawns to an edge where they seemed incapable of functioning all together. In the sense that they were afraid of one another, restless and aggressive from losing what little freedom they once had in D9. Not this regulation of food and water, of cages and privileges for their good behavior.

He tried keeping an eye on the darting youths. Feeling uneasy when they neared older groups, or skirted about them; to his relief most ignored the trio. Weaving through the field and teasing one another. He could see Oliver goading the friend, Bailey, he recalled. They scuffled. Oliver wasn't particularly strong though, and every bout ended with the youth pinned with his back to the ground.

Theo became restless then. Now, with his new ability to walk, he trotted along, eager. Falling several times, but this did not deter his enthusiasm. His bright eyes would look back for approval. Searching for that motivation, and having found none, Desmond forced himself to trill back.

It made those eyes, elated as they were, somehow more vibrant; Theo squeaked and moved along.

He allowed the child to run several paces ahead while he trailed behind; torn between Theo and Oliver's movements. He ended up watching his little spawn exclusively. Oliver was capable, the atmosphere of the colony (in these parts) thrummed with a neutral existence; he should be fine.

He interacted with a trill, or a small smile, watched as the child explored the world around him; so curious, alive. Getting dirty from the puddles, splashing, and squeezing the mud in his hands.

Soon enough he was joined by another little boy, who ran up to the puddle and jumped into its middle. This alarmed Desmond, tense, not expecting this sudden interaction he stepped closer and watched with a frown.

Theo blinked up at the culprit from where he sat. The little one viewed back with a tilt of his head, grinned and giggled. Quickly joined by the smiles and grins of Theo covered in mud. The boy screeched and wobbled up with dirty hands and started chasing his new friend.

"He's enjoying himself." Christopher's pleased voice hit the air.

Desmond turned.

"How long…?"

"Just now."

The prawn walked up to and stood beside him. The others around them knew better than to outright stare, or look out of curiosity or respect; but they did in ways that would not look so obvious. Desmond had always found this slightly disturbing.

"Oliver, too." He clacked, trying to shake off these glances.

"Hm."

When Desmond found him, he and his friends had joined another group playing football. He recognized the tanned youth from earlier. He gawked slightly, wondering how he could have missed not seeing the left, missing forearm of the youth.

"He needs this."

Christopher didn't respond, and continued to watch the youth.

With a small sigh, a puff of air escaped Desmond's gills as he went back to tracking his son.

"I'll… try to be more involved. With Theo, I mean. I… I feel bad for having to put you and Oliver through his care."

Slow, methodical as he tried his best with his pronunciation.

"I don't mind it. But yes, it would be better if you were with him more."

Theo had tripped again. And now his little friend was helping him up. The little devil sneakily wiped the mud across the other boy's face and body when he did. This made him chuckle briefly.

Christopher seemed to smile.

"Do you think differently of him now?"

Desmond shrugged, his secondary arms fiddling briefly, uncertain.

"I want to." He paused.

"It's hard to, Chris. It's not the same; the way we reproduce. The… the thought that I…" Christopher remained silent, allowed him to speak no matter how slow he was at articulating.

"… it's not normal." An old argument; he'd explained this before when he was with child. Depressed and sulking, spiteful of his circumstances.

"It's only an alternative way of reproducing. I should have taught you better, more thorough."

"I don't think I would have listened." He chuckled. Christopher did not seem amused by this.

"Four more years and he will molt." That bit back any response from Desmond. He became tense, and; perhaps frightened by that statement.

"He might be different, but right now I don't think we can say for certain. He is still unique, like you."

"How?"

"I'm not entirely sure. But your scent is different, a subtle difference, but it's there."

When the evening started to darken, the area became sparse with prawns leaving to their tents. Oliver must have known his father was present, as both he and his tanned companion raced towards them. The unnamed boy made it first with a triumphant trill, whilst Oliver a mere few centimeters behind.

Christopher watched them quietly, guarded as ever, Desmond thought.

"I won!"

"I wasn't ready!" Oliver said pointedly.

"So?"

"And I still managed to catch up to you."

"Just barely," the other grinned.

"Oliver?"

He finally acknowledged his father with a whirl. His friend stood at attention, still, but somehow managed a smile.

"Father, this is Kelsey."

The youth chirped.

"He and his friends have a ball to play with, and they were nice enough to include us."

"Where are you from, Kelsey?" Christopher inquired.

"From this section, of course…"

Unaffected from the prawn's seemingly chipper state, he nodded.

"I live with my grandpa, and my brother." He shrugged.

"I see."

"Maybe he can walk with us?"

"Some other time, perhaps. It's getting late."

Oliver glanced back at Kelsey, dejected and nodded.

"Will you come out tomorrow?"

Oliver smiled briefly, "Sure."

Kelsey smiled back, and with nod to Christopher he trilled goodbye as he jogged away.

"Desmond, do you need help with Theo?"

"I'll… just need to clean him up." He called for him as he played with more mud. After a moment the boy ran after him and buried his face into his leg.

"Okay…" Desmond sighed, picking him up in his arms, looking at him.

Theo giggled and nuzzled against his chest.

"Sure, let's get daddy all dirty now." He teased lightly, walking to the outdoor showers.

Oliver joined his side, as Christopher followed behind.

"Have some fun, kid?"

Oliver glanced up, and made a small smile.

"Have you prawns ever heard of rugby?"

He shook his head.

"Now there's a fun game to play."

"What is it?"

"You mostly run about with the ball in your hands. But the other team can tackle you down. As long as your team's behind yeah, you can get the ball out again and run to the other side for a try."

Paused.

"Lot more aggressive, though… on second thought, it wouldn't be a great idea here."

He glanced at Oliver.

"Yeah, wouldn't want your antennae getting crushed in a ruck."

Oliver looked at him slightly startled and laughed.

"No, I wouldn't. But what do you mean by a ruck?"

Desmond grinned.

"Maybe after I clean him up, I'll explain it a bit better."

* * *

Inside the tent they ate. Desmond had noticed that he had developed a certain satisfaction for meat, at least in the way it ripped so easily in his mouth, the certain taste he'd acquired for fresh pieces. Since the nature of their supplies often came in cans, or packages, the fresh slabs were always eaten first to prevent them from going bad.

Sometimes the old meat had to be eaten; and they could eat it, it just wasn't the same.

Oliver finished quickly, and went through some papers and pamphlets that MNU issued out during the last inspection.

They explained it briefly themselves in person, but not all of the residents could read English.

"It must be expansions." Oliver started, quickly looking at them.

"And the resources that they mention in these."

"What kinds?" He hadn't read them. At first he thought they must have been mandated by some kind of pencil pusher working in MNU, a need to meet some kind of mandate and proof that they were on the right track.

Oliver handed him the pages he was done with.

"Some of these are just… copies from the last farce." He laughed.

Information on medical services, save for a few extra organizations he didn't recognize, and the others that had been cut off. It all echoed from the first attempts that MNU had installed.

"They've mentioned starting up working slots."

Christopher grunted.

"Think you'll start working, dad? If you could?"

"I don't know." An air of doubt surfaced, as Christopher finished off his meat.

* * *

.

.

… TBC!


End file.
